


talk about my past, promise me a future

by eddieklives



Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Abusive Myra Kaspbrak, Addict Richie Tozier, And so have I, Angst with a Happy Ending, Drug Addiction, Eddie Kaspbrak Lives, Eddie Kaspbrak Loves Richie Tozier, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, POV Eddie Kaspbrak, Post-Canon, Post-IT Chapter Two (2019), Rehabilitation, Richie Tozier Loves Eddie Kaspbrak, Richie Tozier is a Mess, Self-Harm, Slow Burn, Suicide Attempt, he'll be okay i promise, i would tag infidelity but i dont give a fuck about myra so??, myra is in this and she's a cunt, this fic has been through hell and back, tw for description of heroin use, tw for description of track marks, tw for description of withdrawal, tw for overdose
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-16
Updated: 2020-10-16
Packaged: 2021-03-08 01:01:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 16,094
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26717179
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eddieklives/pseuds/eddieklives
Summary: After Derry, Richie began to shut down. Unable to cope with his trauma, he turned to heroin. Eddie can't lose him again.AKA: Time does heal, if you let it.(Formerly called "I love you, and I don't want to". This fic has been rewritten beyond recognition, so the title had to change.)- Rated Mature for the topics and language -
Relationships: Ben Hanscom/Beverly Marsh, Bill Denbrough/Mike Hanlon, Eddie Kaspbrak & Richie Tozier, Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier
Comments: 2
Kudos: 84





	talk about my past, promise me a future

“Richie bailed again?” Bill’s voice was calm and collected over the phone. Eddie sat on the toilet seat, with eyes fixated on the cracked corner of one of his bathroom floor tiles.

This was not included in Eddie’s life plan. To find himself stuck in what he could now see was a loveless marriage, missing someone who didn’t seem to really give a fuck about him or their other friends anymore, having seemingly moved on with his life, and struggling to even look in the mirror anymore, his scar stinging in what felt like a bad memory (it was fully healed and not meant to hurt anymore; phantom pain wasn’t just for lost limbs, Eddie realized in talks with his many doctors, it was often associated with any traumatic injuries, life-threatening moments).

The goddamn clown… He still heard it, saw it, felt it’s claw pierce through him like he was made of butter. He remembered Bev’s scared half-whisper at the Jade as she began to reassemble the fragmented memories of the summer of 89. “ _Pennywise.”_ She had said. Almost inaudibly. Afraid that if she said it too loud, he might appear right there in front of her face.

He could still smell the stench of the sewers in his clothes whenever he woke up from a nightmare, shaking and drenched in his own sweat. He could hear Mike’s plea to stay. He could feel the blood spilling out of him, as he crunched the numbers in his head, trying to figure out how much longer he had before he would lose too much of it and die down there.

He had woken up, six months before, from a two-week induced coma to an untethered Myra, crying and shouting _‘Why did you come here? Why did you not listen to me?’_ , as she grabbed his hands too tight, possessive rather than comforting, but in that moment, all he could think of was Richie. Richie had carried him all the way up the sewers, all the way out of Neibolt, he had held Eddie the whole time it took for the ambulance to come, keeping him awake by tapping at his face lightly, whispering things Eddie couldn’t quite place at the time and definitely could not remember now either.

Eddie had pressed himself tight against Richie then, and two weeks later, in that hospital bed, he felt cold, and he felt unloved, and he felt scared. He had wanted Richie there so badly when he woke up, only for Myra to tell him all his “fake friends” had left before he had even woken up. It wasn’t until their first facetime reunion, around a month later, that they told him Myra kicked them out of the hospital as soon as she arrived, claiming that they were the ones who had hurt him and, thus, had no right to be there. Richie did not speak on it the whole time they were on call.

“I’m worried, Bill.” Admitting that, that he was worried something was going on with Richie, almost made him throw up. Bill hummed knowingly at the confession; it had felt like a pat on the shoulder to Eddie. “You don’t think he’s in trouble, do you?”

“I would really like to believe he’d tell us.” Bill replied.

Eddie pressed his mouth closer to the phone, speaking in a low voice, so that Myra couldn’t hear him.

“We don’t talk anymore, Bill.” The scar in his chest stung and Eddie fisted his polo shirt.

At first, he had tried to tell himself that he had no grounds to believe Richie was anything but fine, he didn’t know him, at least not anymore. Eddie wasn’t the same he had been as a young boy, so why would Richie be? There was no reason for Eddie to believe he still knew Richie well enough to see through the walls he had built around himself through the years.

Eddie cared about him to a degree he couldn’t quite explain. He remembered when they were kids, the endless teasing, the goddamn mom jokes, the ice creams they shared, the hammock, the stolen looks, and hidden smiles. He remembered all the nights when he couldn’t sleep; he would sneak out of his house to climb through Richie’s window and they would listen to Mr. Tozier’s old records the whole night, until Eddie had to go back, before his mom could notice he had been out.

He remembered how Richie used to cry with him, but always made him promise not to tell. _‘My dad says boys don’t cry.’_ Richie would say. He had a way of driving Eddie insane one second and leaving him speechless the next, wanting to hug him. They used to joke about running away together and a small part of Eddie wondered what his life would have been like if they had kept all those promises they had made each other.

“Yeah, but-” Bill began.

“Bill.” Eddie interrupted, his voice as tired as his heart felt, and Bill knew what he meant. Richie wouldn’t ask anything of them, not if he thought it was something that could hurt them, or something he simply did not want help with. “Do you think I should just go over the-”

“Eddie-bear!” Myra called out from the kitchen.

“Fuck, shit, fuck-”

“What the hell, Eddie, you still have to hide our calls from h-”

“I gotta go, Big Bill, bye.” He hung up as fast as he could, putting his phone in his pocket and flushing the toilet. Eddie opened the bathroom door and almost headbutted Myra.

“Jesus, Myra!”

Myra looked over his shoulder and squinted before looking back at his face. “What were you doing, Eddie.”

“What? Nothing. What do you mean? I need to give you the details on my bathroom trips, now?”

Myra put her hand on his forehead, feeling for a possible fever. Eddie rolled his eyes, careful not to let her see it. “I worry about you, Eddie. Your weird dreams are back, you should take those pills I gave you.”

“No, Myra, I am not taking any pills.”

“Why won’t you just listen-”

“Myra, I said no, please?” He felt helpless when it came to standing up to her and thought how ridiculous that must look to the other Losers, considering the things Eddie (and all of them) had faced down in Derry. _‘You’re braver than you think.’_ Richie’s voice whispered on the back of his head.

“You never listen to me, anymore, Edward! What would Sonia say, huh? Look what happened to you last time you decided not to listen to me!” She yanked his polo up. “Are you happy with _that?_ Look at how ugly you are now!”

The scar was burning when Myra finally let his polo drop back down to cover it. Eddie bit the inside of his cheek and with it the tears welling up in his eyes.

*

**Richie’s hands were sweaty and fidgeting, his eyesight was even worse than normal, and his balance was so off, he kept being forced to hold on to the wall and furniture for stability. He knew he was playing a dangerous game, but he kept pushing down any concern with empty promises. He looked down at his hands and- “Fuck.”, he was bleeding again. Leaning against the wall, he moved towards his bedroom and sat on the mattress. He reached for the box under his bed frame and pulled it out.**

*

Eddie tossed and turned between two and five in the morning, not having really slept before then either. He had been sleeping in the guest bedroom for a couple of months, Myra having refused to be disturbed by his nightmares or general insomnia. Eddie didn’t object, not being too keen on sleeping with his wife anyway.

He walked to the guest bathroom, carrying some of the few clothes he kept in the guest bedroom closet. Eddie turned on the shower and removed his pyjamas as the steam warmed up the bathroom. He never looked in the mirror now, so the fogginess came in handy most of the time, keeping his scar hidden away where Eddie believed it belonged. _‘You’re braver than you think.’_ He heard. “Shut up…” He muttered, more to the fake Richie in his head than to himself. _‘Eds, stay with me, come on.’_ Eddie shook his head at his own stupid brain tricks and got under the shower stream, letting the scalding water swallow him whole.

Eddie always washed his chest the hardest, scrubbing away at his scar, always leaving it a bit red and puffy afterwards, from his desperate attempt to wash it off, _‘Look at how ugly you are now!’_ echoing in his brain.

He stepped out of the shower and put on his warm light grey hoodie and looser dark blue jeans, his white sneakers coming last. He couldn’t care less about styling his hair at that time in the morning, so he shrugged, unbothered by his grooming ritual for probably the first time in 15 years.

Eddie walked quietly through the house, with nothing but a backpack swung over his shoulder, which contained his documents, credit cards, MacBook, iPhone, chargers, and car keys. He grabbed his puffy jacket from the spare bedroom closet and walked out of the house, with only the utmost essentials.

He started the car and immediately turned on the heating. Without waiting for the engine to get warm, as usual, Eddie began to drive. He didn’t know it yet, but he had just left his wife.

*

**He wondered if they talked about it, if they had a separate group chat that didn’t include him, if they made guesses as to what was going on. Every time any of them came close to asking him about what he was up to, he would either change the topic (not smoothly at all) or just straight up lie. Yes, he felt terrible. He got his best friends back (well, five of them) and this is how he was choosing to live the whatever many years they had left (‘You have left.’, his brain corrected). He knew this and it haunted him. Yet, the pain was too much, the fear was too much, the images, the nightmares, the flashbacks, the smells…**

*

Eddie sat in his car outside the airport, sweat running down his forehead and back as he asked himself what the _fuck_ he thought he was doing.

*

Eddie would be arriving soon. Over the last couple of months, Richie had begun avoiding the group videocalls with all the Losers, participating less and less in the group chat, taking longer to reply to their individual texts and not responding to missed calls. He blamed it on the workload that came with trying to rebrand himself and taking a chance at writing his own material again, but Eddie wasn’t a fool, not about Richie. He knew Richie, he didn’t care for the years he had missed, because Richie was the same scared boy, putting on a front and hiding behind crudeness. At forty years old, he was still as much his best friend as he had been at thirteen, and God damn Eddie if Eddie cared about him just as much as he had back then, potentially more, always looking towards Richie for comfort, for safety, for love.

Eddie stared at his wristwatch and sighed. _‘You’re just going to check on your friend. You’re worried. It’s normal to show up at their doorstep in the middle of the day, right? Yeah, it’s fine. He won’t find that weird.’_ He let his head fall back, hitting the headrest on his airplane seat, perhaps too hard. He hissed. “What am I doing…” He muttered, receiving a weird look from the stranger sitting beside him. Eddie tightened his lips, the same way he always did as a kid. The stranger looked back at the book on their lap. It was Anna Karenina. _‘God, what a douche.’_ Eddie thought, noticing the title.

Eddie didn’t know at what point he had dozed off, but the strength with which he hit his head when the plane hit the runway, gave him an idea of how deeply he was sleeping. Staying up most of the night, literally running away from home and getting on the first direct flight to LA to see ~~the love of your life~~ your best friend was the perfect recipe for hitting the REM stage in under 20 minutes.

He picked up his backpack, swung it over his shoulder and walked trough the airport. He had gotten a 7:45am flight (NY time), and arrived in Los Angeles a little past 10:00am, local time. Once his phone regained service, it started blowing up.

_Eddie, where are you?_

_Your boss called. You didn’t go to work?_

_Is something wrong?_

_You bought a $1000 plane ticket to LA? Call me, right now!!_

_WHERE ARE YOU, EDDIE?_

Eddie deleted the messages, along with the twenty-seven missing calls from Myra and the two from his boss.

*

**Richie opened the door to a fond smile and big brown eyes staring back at him. He suddenly didn’t feel quite so scared. It was Eddie. His Eddie. The boy he’d loved, the man he still loved.**

“H-” Eddie opened his mouth to speak, immediately interrupted by two big gangly arms wrapping around him, pulling him so tight he thought he was going to disappear right into Richie’s body. He was thinner, almost worryingly so, and Eddie’s heart hurt. _‘Is he sick?’_ was the first thought that entered his mind. He didn’t want to think it.

Eddie melted into that hug as ice cream under 95ºF. Richie’s skin felt cold, which isn’t what Eddie remembered, but Eddie didn’t give any attention to it, because he was there, and he was in his arms, and whatever was wrong, Eddie was going to fix or die trying.

He was so thankful that Richie seemed to not mind him showing up unannounced. If Eddie had to say it, Richie looked almost…relieved. Eddie would pay money to know what was going through Richie’s mind. When they were kids, Richie used to mess with him endlessly, demand his attention. He loved seeing Eddie happy. Eddie always thought it was Richie’s need to cover up his problems, the emotions he couldn’t get control over. And, yeah, sometimes it was, but mostly, Richie just wanted to see Eddie smile. He knew what Eddie’s home life was like and he would have done anything to give him any semblance of escape. Now, standing under Richie’s doorway, Eddie wanted to be Richie’s escape, pay him back.

“What are you doing here?” Richie whispered; his face still buried in Eddie’s neck.

Eddie shivered at Richie’s breath hitting his skin. “You can’t turn off notifications if I’m right in front of you.”

“Ouch, Eds…” He laughed with it, but Eddie could tell it had hurt a little. To be fair, it hurt him too.

They pulled away from the hug. Richie was pale and Eddie’s stomach turned. Instinctively, Eddie reached up and rested his warm hand gently on Richie’s cheek. Richie’s breath itched at the contact, warm on cold, but he still leaned against the touch. Eddie’s heart skipped a beat and he felt like he was stuck in a stupid romantic movie.

“You’re freezing, Rich.”

Richie didn’t say anything, so Eddie pushed them both inside and closed the door behind him. He dropped his backpack on the floor carelessly, either forgetting or subconsciously not caring that his laptop was inside. Eddie looked around the apartment, not to look for clues about Richie’s private life, not to snoop, but to find something that could help Richie warm up. His eyes immediately clocked on the fireplace.

“Do you have wood?” Eddie asked.

“Wow, you won’t even buy me a drink first?”

“That is such a cheap joke, Richie.”

“You kind of walked into that one, though…” He laughed, but only superficially, Eddie noticed. Not his full body laugh, like usual.

Richie did end up telling Eddie that the wood was in the garage and within 15 minutes, the fireplace was lit and the fire was reflecting on Richie’s skin, as he melted away into the couch, already visibly more comfortable.

“You got here 20 minutes ago.”

“Hm.” Eddie nodded away, pulling a blanket over Richie.

“Why are you like this?” Richie’s voice gave something away, but Eddie couldn’t place what it was.

Eddie stopped and looked at his friend. “Li-like what?”

“Nice to me.”

“Well, you’ve done nothing but worry me for the past two to three months, you won’t answer my calls or participate in our reunions anymore, and I, for some reason, care more about you than my own marriage, even though I haven’t really been in your life for twenty-three years. I got on a plane at 7:45 in the morning, because I couldn’t stop assuming the fucking worst and then I got here and you’re freezing, pale and looking like you haven’t eaten in 6 weeks. I love you, Richard, that’s why I’m fucking nice to you.” The words spilled out of Eddie’s mouth before he could even realize he was speaking.

Richie stared at him, sadness filling his eyes. Eddie flopped down on the couch next to him and kicked off his white trainers.

“Your hair looks cute.” Is all Richie said.

Eddie laughed and shook his head. _‘God, he’s so stupid.’_ He thought.

Richie leaned his head on Eddie’s shoulder and fell asleep almost instantly. Eddie wondered if Richie had slept last night, or at all that week, judging by the dark circles under his eyes. Eddie removed Richie’s glasses and folded them, gently tracing his jaw with his finger, feeling Richie relax under his touch and his mouth part slightly. _‘Kiss him._ ’ Eddie’s brain offered. _‘What?! Shut up.’_ Eddie replied to himself.

*

**He didn’t care how fucked up he was, he wanted Eddie next to him, walking around his apartment in the early morning, folding his arms in exasperation at Richie’s jokes, but secretly hiding a smile. He wanted to hug him and tease him and mess up his hair, watch him when he didn’t know he was looking. But Richie wasn’t Richie. Not anymore, he wasn’t. He hadn’t been Richie in months.**

*

“You what?!” Bill shouted.

“I got on a plane and came to LA. It’s not that big of a deal. I’m gonna have to deal with Myra later, but-”

“Oh, screw Myra, Eddie. Just get a divorce, you’re not happy. She acts like she fucking owns you. You do realize she’s abusive, right…?” Bill sounded sad.

“It’s- it’s not that simple, Bill.” Eddie sighed, defeated.

Bill took a deep breath and silence took over the phone call. “How’s Richie?” He finally asked after a full minute.

Eddie felt the tears burning. He bit the inside of his cheek, a habit he had developed after Derry 2.0. He’d only been staying with Richie for a couple of days, but he knew, he _felt_ that something wasn’t right, and Richie wouldn’t budge, wouldn’t let Eddie in close enough to help.

“He’s so sad, Bill. He tried to act his usual self, but it just feels wrong. I’m pretty sure he doesn’t sleep, he thinks I don’t know but I could hear him pacing the past two nights, just up and down his fucking room, in circles. When I got here, we sat on the couch and he fell asleep on me in two minutes, his eyes almost looked bruised, they were so tired. And the white of his eyes is just splattered with red veins.”

“Fuck…” Bill couldn’t get more than that out. Who would be able to?

“He’s so thin too, Billy…”

“Thin?”

“Yeah, and he’s tall so it’s even more obvious. I can practically see the bones on his shoulders under his t-shirts and, forgive me, but his eyes are fucking sinking into his skull. I don’t know what to do-” A sob escaped him, and he slapped his hand over his mouth, swallowing it.

“You don’t think he’s-”

“Do not say cancer, do not fucking say cancer, Bill.” Eddie interrupted in a frenzy.

“I was gonna say doing drugs, Eddie.”

“You can’t just say that shit. He wouldn’t do that.”

“Eddie…” There was no bite.

Eddie shot up and practically wan to Richie’s room.

“What is that noise?”

“I’m looking through his things, what the fuck do you think?”

“Ed-”

Eddie ended the call, leaving Bill mid-word. He threw his phone in his pocket and began opening every drawer and rummaging through the closet. He found nothing.

*

**Richie sat in the motel room, his brain spinning faster than he could control. He thought of the full 48+ hours he spent watching Eddie, comatose, fighting for his life, under the insane amount of drugs the hospital in Bangor provided their trauma patients. Richie had told him he loved him then, in the sewers, knowing he couldn’t hear him, he had told him again as he held his hand in the hospital, warming it up (Eddie’ skin had been so cold). Now Eddie was in his house, waiting, wondering where Richie was. Richie tried to push away the images of Eddie dying in his arms. He picked up his lighter and lit it under the foil.**

*

It was never this hard when they were kids. Whenever Eddie had a concern, he could always be honest with Richie. There was never any fear between them, never any secrets. Eddie wanted to ask Richie what he was hiding, he wanted to ask why he looked so sick, why he had just gone missing for a whole fucking day, only calling so they could meet at some sushi place. “Yes, Richie, I eat sushi.”, Eddie had said over the phone, after Richie had dodged all his questions.

Richie was leaning against the windowsill of the restaurant. It wasn’t cold out, so Eddie only put on a button down shirt he had bought the day before, when he remembered he hadn’t actually brought any of his things from New York with him, but Richie was wearing a thicker sweater. Eddie could spot the second Richie noticed him; a soft smile having appeared on his lips. He didn’t look as tired and fidgety as he had in the morning, which prompted Eddie to think maybe he was seeing someone and didn’t want Eddie to know. Maybe Richie had spent the day with them, maybe he slept. _‘Why wouldn’t he want you to know?’_ Eddie’s brain asked. Eddie shushed the thought away.

Eddie was inches away from Richie when he wrapped his arms around him and smoothed his hair with his hand, pulling him close. Eddie stopped breathing for a few seconds, giving in eventually to wrap his arms around Richie’s torso. “Where did you go?” Eddie couldn’t stop himself asking.

“I had some things to take care of with Steve.” Richie pulled away from the hug.

“Steve? Oh! Is that your boyfriend?” Eddie said.

Richie laughed so hard, he almost choked on his own spit. “He’s my agent! Eds!” He held his stomach.

Eddie felt a sudden relief, which he promptly ignored, not ready to unpack what that meant.

“So, that-” Richie began.

“That? What?” Eddie offered.

“If I did- have a boyfriend, I mean… That would- be okay?”

Eddie’s eyes widened. “Why on earth wouldn’t that be okay?”

“Just saying, it’s not okay to a lot of people.”

“A lot of people are dicks, dude.”

Richie looked dazed for a second, but Eddie couldn’t say anything before Richie opened the restaurant door, swung his arm around Eddie’s shoulder and pulled them inside.

Richie was deep into a spring roll when Eddie tried to make conversation about his day.

“So, what did you have to take care of?”

“Hm?” Richie frowned.

“With Steve. You said you had some things to take care of.”

Richie’s eyes darted all over the place, as he seemed to search his brain for an answer he didn’t have. Eddie knew he was lying about it.

“Richie-”

“Oh, you know, just- boring, PR stuff. It’s been crazy trying to-”

Eddie looked away, blinked, and looked back at Richie, his face stern, but not angry. Mostly sad and tired. “Why are you lying to me?”

Richie closed his eyes and took a deep breath. “Eddie, it’s-”

“Don’t say it’s complicated, don’t say you’re fine, don’t say it.”

Richie looked at his hands, trying to stop himself from shaking. Eddie’s scar burned in his chest and he fisted his shirt, hissing and bending over himself slightly.

“Eddie?” Richie called, but Eddie kept holding his chest, his eyes closed tightly in pain. “Eds.” Richie bolted from his sit across from Eddie and walked around the table to kneel next to him. “Hey, hey, Eds, are you okay?” His fingers held Eddie’s jaw, so he could watch his face.

“I’m-” Eddie struggled.

“Eds-” Richie’s voice cracked, and he placed his hand over Eddie’s, flush against his chest.

“I’m okay.” Eddie’s breath itched as he tried to take a couple deep ones. He inhaled and exhaled slowly, and Richie copied it, subconsciously. Eddie tapped the chair next to him and Richie got up and sat down next to his friend.

“Are you? Okay?” He held Eddie’s face with lips slightly parted. Eddie wanted to fucking _die_.

“I’m alright. It’s okay, it’s phantom pain.” He exhaled and leaned back on the chair, away from Richie’s comforting hands. “I’m okay.” He repeated, more for himself than anyone else.

“Phantom pain?” Richie finally said.

“Hm.” He nodded. “It’s that the doctors say.”

“I thought that was for lost limbs.”

“Lost limbs, traumatic and life-threatening injuries. Same thing.”

Richie’s face did something Eddie couldn’t place. Then Eddie realized it was the same look he had when he killed Bowers. That face showed guilt.

“Hey, Tozier.” Eddie kept his voice as gentle and warm as he possibly could.

Richie couldn’t look at him, his eyes fixed in an invisible spot ahead of them. Only it wasn’t invisible, Eddie came to realize once he followed Richie’s gaze and landed on a birthday party across the restaurant, and then on the red balloons tied to the birthday girl’s chair.

Richie shot up and walked out of the restaurant so fast, Eddie could smell the panic on him. He reached for his wallet, left at least twice the amount they would have to pay for their meal on the table, signalled the waiter for the money so it wouldn’t get stolen, and followed him outside.

Richie was sitting on the curb, his head between his knees and his sleeves scrunched up. His shoulders were shaking, and Eddie knew he was crying. He approached him slowly from behind and placed his hand on his shoulder. Richie pulled his sleeves back down, suspiciously quick, but, once again, he ignored his observation. Eddie sat down next to him and pulled him closer, holding his face in his hands, the same way Richie had done for him before. It had helped him calm down, maybe it could help Richie too.

“Rich.” He looked into his eyes. “I know. I fucking hate birthday parties too.”

Richie chuckled, tears still rolling down his face. Eddie cleaned them with his thumbs, caressing Richie’s cheeks for longer than his brain tried to tell him was acceptable for friends.

“It wasn’t your fault, you know?” Eddie whispered.

“Don’t.” Richie closed his eyes.

“Look at me.”

He does.

“It was _not_ your fault. I am telling you this, not to make _you_ feel better, not to make _myself_ feel better, but because it’s the truth.”

Richie sniffles and nods slowly, closing his eyes again. Eddie smiles and peeps up at him, and Richie’s eyes travel down to his lips, only for a split second, Eddie almost misses it. _‘Kiss him.’_ His brain tells him. Once more, he doesn’t, but that voice in his head is making more and more sense as he spends time with Richie.

Richie clears his throat and pulls away from Eddie’s touch. “I missed you, Eds.” Richie says.

Eddie blinks once, twice, three times. “Like today?”

Richie laughs softly and shakes his head. He suddenly looks pensive, tightening his lips, looking at his hands again. _‘He does that a lot.’_ Eddie thinks.

“Every day.” Richie finally says. He looks at Eddie and suddenly, under the streetlamps, and under the soft breeze that ruffles his growing hair, Eddie really notices him. He notices how beautiful he really is, his soft blue eyes, his sharp jaw, the stubble he never shaves which drives Eddie insane, the broadness of him, even now with the noticeable weight loss he was still a goddamn tank, his crooked little white teeth, and his wonky left eye. Eddie wanted to wrap him up in a blanket, take care of him and never give him a reason to cry again.

“Then why don’t you call, Richie…” Even he knew he sounded sad. “Why do you avoid us? We love you. We want to talk to you. We didn’t go through all we did together just to-”

Richie sighed shakily.

“I’m not- Richie, I’m not, like, mad, you know? I miss you every day, too. I mean, for Christ’s sake, I sneaked out of my house to come see you.”

Richie frowned. “What? Sneaked out? What, like you’re a teenager?” He laughed.

“Yeah, I suppose it does sound fucking ridiculous.” Eddie grimaced.

“Wait, that wasn’t a joke? You sneaked out? Eddie-”

“Can we get out of the curb?” Eddie shot upwards.

“Ed-”

“Can we go? Please, Rich, I really don’t wanna talk about it. Not today.”

Richie is silent, a little confused, but he nods and gets up. They drive home and Eddie tries to ignore the tight grip of Richie’s hands on the steering wheel, his knuckles turned white. Eddie wasn’t sure what Richie was angry at or if he was angry at all. When he went to sleep that night, he still wondered.

*

**Richie laid in his bed and stared at the ceiling, as if the white paint could give him answers. He rubbed his face with both hands and took a deep breath. He was sure Eddie would understand, that wasn’t the issue. The issue was that he didn’t want Eddie to know, to know he was weak and traumatized. He didn’t want Eddie to be creeped out when he woke up to Richie crying and begging Eddie not to die.**

*

Eddie woke up startled and sat up on the bed, rubbing his eyes. He could swear he had heard something. He was about to lay back down when he heard it again. A scream, but this time it was followed by glass breaking, which was followed by crying. He grabbed his sweater and threw it over his head, ignoring the pyjama pants on the floor. He flung the bedroom door open and crossed the hallway to Richie’s room, knocking. “Rich?” He called, trying not to sound too panicky. “Richie…” He leaned his forehead against the door. “Are you okay?”

“Fuck, fuck, fuck-” He heard Richie say from the other side of the door. Then he heard rummaging in the en suite bathroom, and he had enough. Eddie walked in.

“Richie, are you o-” Eddie’s eyes dropped to the broken shard of glass on Richie’s hand, then to his wrist, and finally to the blood on the sink and down Richie’s arm. “Richie- Richie, what are you doing, what are you-” He grabbed a towel from the shelf and wrapped it tight around Richie’s wrist, who winced at the pressure. Eddie’s eyes were shot wide and he thought his heart was going to come out of his mouth. That and the contents of his stomach.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry-” Richie kept repeating, sobbing on Eddie’s shoulder.

“Hey, it’s okay, it’s okay, I’m gonna-” He felt around himself and noticed he was in his boxers. He walked back into the bedroom, found Richie’s phone, and stepped back into the bathroom. “Keep the pressure on that, okay?” He reached for Richie’s cheek and placed a comforting palm on it. He rubbed the tears away.

“Wh- what are you doing?” Richie asked clearly concerned.

“I’m calling 911, Richie, what do you think? You need stitches.”

Richie grabbed Eddie’s wrist. “Don’t. Please.”

“Rich-”

“Please, Eddie, just… I can’t have people find out about this.”

“Quite frankly, Richie, I don’t give a fuck about your public persona, right now, okay? I’m calling 911, go sit down.” He was stern, gentle, but stern.

“Ed-”

He sounded so weak, Eddie wanted to sob, but he held it together, he had to hold it together. He called 911.

*

Eddie let his back slide down the wall of the hospital waiting room. He suddenly craved his inhaler. He reached for his phone instead.

“H-hello? Eddie?”

“I’m sorry to call at this hour, Bill.”

“What time is it?” His voice was hoarse.

“Just about four.”

Bill could hear the crack in Eddie’s voice. “What’s wrong, man?”

Eddie broke down. He hadn’t cried like that in a long fucking time, he realized, with his knees against his chest, unable to speak without crying harder.

“Who is that?” A male voice spoke on the other end of the line.

“It’s Eddie.”

“Put it on speaker.” The man said.

“Is that- Mikey?” Eddie asked, forgetting why he was calling for a split second. _‘Ohhhh, yeah, that makes sense.’_ Eddie’s brain voice offered.

“Uhh, yeah…” Bill cleared his throat. “I’ll tell you about that later.”

Eddie could hear Mike laugh a little and for some reason, the knowledge of his two friends happily dating only made him cry harder.

“Eddie, what happened?” Mike asked, calm and collected.

“Ri-Richie, he-”

His two friends waited in silence for Eddie to finish the sentence.

“He cut his wrist.”

“He what?!” Bill shouted.

“Where are you, Eddie?” Mike intervened.

“I’m at the hospital. He didn’t wanna come, he was scared people would find out.”

“Hey, you got him to go, Eddie. That’s good. How is he?” Mike was comforting. He reminded Eddie of Stan. Everything about that night reminded him of Stan.

“I don’t know, he’s still inside.”

He heard his two friends mutter something over the phone to each other. “He’ll probably stay on suicide watch for a couple days.” Bill said.

“Do you want us to-”

“I think he’ll hate me if he even suspects I called you guys.” Eddie interrupted.

Bill sighed and Eddie could hear Mike comfort him. He saw who he guessed was a doctor signal him to come over, so Eddie said goodbye, assuring them he would call with more news in the morning. He put the phone back in his pocket, took a deep breath and stood up, walking the length of the hallway, from the waiting room to where the woman stood.

For some reason Eddie had assumed he would be speaking to an ER doctor, but instead it was a psychiatrist. She introduced herself as Dr. Coyle, _‘But you can call me Madison.’,_ he absolutely would _not_ be doing that. She informed him that they were keeping Richie in for 48 hours, on suicide watch, but that he was welcome to visit (not that Eddie cared for permission, he would climb the fucking outside of the hospital if he had to), and that they would be moving Richie to the psych area.

She said Eddie could go see Richie now. He asked if Richie would be okay and immediately called himself stupid for it. Dr. Coyle didn’t reply, instead she gave a comforting squeeze to his arm and walked away. Her face was that of someone who knew more than she was letting on, and it killed Eddie to think Richie would purposefully ask her to keep something from him.

Richie was sleeping when Eddie walked into the hospital room. A nurse was still inside, checking his IV drop.

“Don’t worry, it’s just that considering his health status, we need to give him fluids.” He walked out before Eddie could ask anything.

“What _health_ status?” He muttered. It was getting annoying.

Eddie had only been in the room for ten minutes, when two new nurses walked in. They were older, in their late 50s.

“Hi, darling. Are you his family?”

Eddie answered affirmatively, no thinking required.

“We’re moving him to the psych ward, now. You have to go home, alright?”

“What? No.” He shook his head, adamantly, already panicking.

One of them stepped towards him and touched his arm. “Go home, eat something, and come back tomorrow when you’ve calmed down, okay? He’s safe here. He’s gonna be watched the whole time. He’ll be alright, I promise. But he needs you and that means you have to-”

Eddie nodded so hard he almost broke his neck. The woman smiled and gave his arm a gentle squeeze before letting go. Eddie watched them take Richie away. Feeling powerless, he went home.

*

Eddie was a couple steps away from Richie’s hospital room when he heard laughter coming from the inside. He walked in to find Richie sitting up against the bed frame, smiling wide and Dr. Coyle sitting at the foot of the bed, still laughing a little. He leaned against the doorframe taking Richie’s smile in, wanting to memorize it so he could hold on to it forever.

“Eddie!” Richie greeted as soon as his eyes landed on him.

Eddie pushed off the doorframe and walked in.

“Have you met Mads?!” He smiled pointing at the doctor.

“Jesus Christ, Richie, that’s your doctor, please don’t-.” He turned to her. “I’m so sorry about him, like in general.”

“I met your Eddie yesterday, Richard.”

Eddie felt like a brick hit him in the back of the head. _‘ Your Eddie? What the fuck? What the fuck?’_

“Don’t call him mine, Dr. Coyle, he’ll short-circuit.”

She laughed standing up from the bed, the male nurse in the room joining in and chuckling as well. “He’s doing okay, today, as you can see, we chatted for a bit. I’ll come back in the evening, okay?”

Eddie nodded, confused as he’d ever been.

Richie’s doctor left and the nurse handed him a tiny plastic dosing cup with a transparent liquid inside. Richie inhaled and exhaled in a rapid succession, he looked annoyed. He shot back the liquid and swallowed. “God, that’s disgusting, I prefer tequila, you got any?”

The nurse laughed and shook his head.

“What is that?” Eddie asked, genuinely curious.

“Bupr-”

“It’s just a sedative, Eds.” Richie interrupted. “Right?” Richie shot the nurse a pleading look.

The nurse’s eyes darted over Richie, then Eddie, then Richie again. “Yeah, it’s uh, Lorazepam.” He offered.

“Yeah.” Richie nodded and then looked back at Eds, a small smile creeping up on his lips.

 _‘You know that doesn’t add up, Eddie.’_ He thought. He pushed it away. “Huh.”

The nurse left the room like his ass was on fire. Eddie looked at Richie and then the wall. “Lorazepam, huh?”

“Yep.” Richie said.

“That’s sleep medication, Richie. They’re giving you that at 9:30 in the morning?”

“It has…other…uses?”

“Richie, I’m not stupid, I know there’s something you’re not telling me, and you’ve gotten every healthcare worker in here lying to me!”

“Eddie, please? Just- please? Trust me.”

Eddie didn’t want to push him, God knows Richie was already at his limit, anything could send him over the edge. So, he stayed quiet about it and everything else he saw, for the full 48 hours Richie was in the hospital, only calling Bill (and Mike) with updates and venting his concerns to them.

Dr. Coyle handed Richie a pamphlet along with his release letter. They didn’t take two steps before Richie chucked it in the trashcan, away from Eddie’s curious and concerned gaze.

*

Every time Richie looked at him like this, with nothing but warmth and love in his eyes, Eddie wanted to smack their lips together and never pull apart (he appeared to have accepted the thought that kept creeping up on him). He felt stupid. Why did he give him butterflies? He was forty fucking years old. He wasn’t supposed to get butterflies anymore, to feel his stomach turn and his lungs fall short of air whenever Richie was close like this. If he was honest, he had never felt that way in his adult life, probably not since leaving Derry, even.

They ate dinner on the couch after much convincing on Richie’s part, although Eddie still thought it was very unhygienic, and it only took some arguing for them to settle on what to watch on Netflix. ‘ _This is a terrible movie.’_ Eddie thought to himself, but Richie kept giggling at the bad jokes, and he loved hearing him laugh, so he stayed quiet and watched Richie, instead of the TV.

Eddie would die for Richie. And, still, he couldn’t explain why Richie’s eyes made his heart feel like it had been caught in his throat. He heard people talk about love this way, but that couldn’t be it, could it? He was married! To a woman! He had chosen to marry Myra because she felt like a good fit, a safe, planned, well-thought through decision. Now, sitting with Richie on his couch, he wondered if he was supposed to feel stronger about a man he barely knew (so to speak), than about his wife. Didn’t he deserve to be with someone who made his heart jump instead of someone he had married for safety, who his mother had chosen for him?

‘ _I need to call her…’_ He thought.

Richie’s head fell on Eddie’s shoulder and Eddie almost jumped at the touch. He looked at the man asleep next to him and couldn’t help but smile. He looked peaceful. Eddie traced the sharp lines of his jaw and the soft curve of his lips with his gaze and could easily see how the young Richie he knew grew up to become the handsome man he was now. Eddie resisted the instinct to run his fingers through Richie’s hair, the way he used to when they were kids in Richie’s bed and David Bowie played in the background, not because he thought Richie would mind, but because he didn’t wanna wake him.

He took the remote from Richie’s hand slowly as to not disturb his sleep and turned off the TV. There was a soft navy blue blanket on his lap, which he unfolded and used to cover both him and Richie, the latter relaxing at the warmth that quickly surrounded him and leaning further against Eddie, who let him rest against his chest instead.

Eddie leaned his head back on the couch and stared at the ceiling for a few minutes. His heart was beating slow and steady and he felt safer than he had ever felt since leaving Derry as a teenager. He knew Richie was the reason, but before that train of thought could take him any further into his own realizations, he slipped into sleep, with his best friend in his arms.

They couldn’t have been asleep for an hour, when Richie groaned, waking Eddie up. “You can’t keep letting me pass out on the couch.” He said.

Eddie smiled and pulled the blanket closer to his chest. “You barely sleep, Rich. I don’t wanna wake you up when you finally seem to be getting some rest.”

Richie stood up and smiled, scratching his stomach over his shirt. “I’m going to bed, before I pull every muscle on my back.”

Eddie was immediately overcome with worry. “Wait!” It came out louder than Eddie intended. “Wait…” He repeated quieter.

Richie watched him with a blank expression. Eddie didn’t speak. They stared for what felt like hours, a visible shudder going down Richie’s spine, already cold and missing Eddie’s touch. Eddie swallowed dry and exhaled, his eyes closing ever so slightly.

“Should you…be alone?”

Eddie noticed Richie’s mouth open and close a couple of times, as if he were trying to guess what Eddie meant by that. When it hit him, pain flashed through his eyes.

“Oh.”

Eddie didn’t reply.

Richie grabbed his patched-up wrist, probably in a subconscious movement. He twisted his fingers around the bandaging slightly, and the saddest smile Eddie had ever seen appeared on his lips.

“I’ll be okay.” He said.

Eddie felt his scar begin to hurt, so he fisted his shirt, taking a couple small breaths. Richie took a step closer to Eddie, who looked up into his eyes.

“Is it hurting?” Richie asked.

Eddie only nodded slowly, two perfectly almond shaped tears falling down his eyes and landing on his collar. Richie stepped even closer; their bodies pressed together now. Eddie’s breath itched at the closeness and he fully stopped breathing when Richie took his hand down from his chest and placed his own over Eddie’s heart instead.

Eddie was blown away but how rapidly his brain was firing and in all directions. He could just…reach up, just a few inches, a small movement, one last push, and he would have his lips pressed against Richie’s. He felt light-headed and he could have sworn he was going to faint. Richie fell forward and leaned his forehead against Eddie’s, his big hand still pressing against the scar, just over the thin fabric of Eddie’s shirt.

“I would die for you.” The words dripped from Richie’s lips, like warm honey on Eddie’s ears. Eddie wasn’t sure Richie even knew he was talking.

Eddie held Richie’s face in his hands and smiled. He closed his eyes and pressed their foreheads even closer together. “I would never let that happen.”

Richie whined; a small sob followed by hot tears. Two years ago, Eddie would have found his next decision absolutely disgusting, hell _seven months_ ago Eddie would have found it disgusting. Present Eddie, on the other hand, was starting to realize being in love was leading to some very questionable choices, in the eyes of the version of him he knew so well. He didn’t kiss Richie’s lips, he kissed his cheeks and his eyes, standing on the tips of his toes. He kissed every single tear out of his stupid, beautiful face.

He was beginning to work up the courage to kiss Richie’s lips when the latter pulled away. Eddie’s knees felt like putty.

“I’ll be okay, Eds. Okay? I’m sorry, I know I scared you. I don’t even know…” He sighed and let his arms go limp at his sides.

Eddie suddenly felt stupid. There he was kissing all over this man’s face, and now he was just- pushing him away and saying goodnight. He decided then that he would go back to ignoring the voice in his head.

Richie didn’t wait for Eddie to agree or disagree, before walking to his bedroom and closing the door behind him, leaving Eddie in the living room, hating himself for ever considering that there could be anything more between them, other than a fucked up friendship, fuelled solely by trauma.

*

“How have things been?” Mike asked.

“Well, he says shit he shouldn’t say and then expects me to just- move on from it. And he keeps saying he’s fine, even when I don’t say anything. If I look at him in a slightly different way, one he finds inquisitive, he shuts down or gets defensive.” Eddie vents.

“You’re getting tired, huh?”

“Wouldn’t you?”

Silence.

“I think I should go home.” Eddie admits defeatedly.

“Eds…” Mike comforts. “If you think it’s best for you.”

“Yeah, well. It’s certainly best for him, he doesn’t seem to want me here very much anymore.”

“I don’t think that’s true, Eddie.”

Eddie sighs and slaps a hand over his mouth when he feels himself choking up. “I love him, Mike.”

“I know, buddy.”

“No, Mike…” He exhaled.

Eddie can hear Mike swallow in the silence that follows. _‘Well, if anyone will understand…’_ He thinks.

“Oh.” Mike finally says.

“I can’t be here and just- not have him act normal with me. It’s too painful, it’s just a reminder that we lost more than we can get back. We can’t make up for the lost time, I guess.”

*

**Richie walked out of his car and into the café. It was basically empty, as always. Richie sat at the same table he always did, in the back corner, nearest to the bathroom, and ordered coffee. He waited less than ten minutes until John (which Richie was pretty sure was not his real name) walked in, ordered a bottle of raspberry flavoured sparkling water, and walked towards the table Richie was sitting at and sat next to him.**

**“How have you been?” John asked.**

**“The same.”**

**The waiter brought John’s water and no glass, as per usual. John reached under the table, put his hand in his jacket pocket, took out a small plastic bag, and placed it inside the pocket of Richie’s hoodie. Richie did the same motions, retrieving a roll of bills from his own pocket and placing it in John’s.**

*

Richie had been gone for a few hours again. Eddie was spiralling on his own, pacing the hallway, entering every room. He is weak, his skin is cold all the time, he has lost a worrying amount of weight, he doesn’t sleep, he can barely eat, he is hurting himself… _‘Don’t worry, it’s just that considering his health status, we need to give him fluids.’_ The nurse had said. What health status? And what was that fucking liquid he took. _‘Lorazepam my ass, the nurse had said a different word.’_ It started with a B. Eddie had heard it. _‘He wasn’t gonna say Lorazepam.’_

His brain wouldn’t stop shouting _‘Cancer.’_ Eddie was going to fucking lose it.

A couple of hours later, Richie came back, dragging himself through the corridors and entering his room, first thing. Eddie got up from the bed in Richie’s spare bedroom and knocked on Richie’s door. There was no answer. Eddie rested his forehead against the hard wood of the door. “Rich.” He called out. Again, nothing. “Ri-”

“Go away.” Richie’s voice was faint, but sharp, hitting Eddie like a gush of wind, that nearly knocked him to the ground.

Eddie pushed away from the door and took barely two steps, before he heard Richie throwing up and burst into the bedroom. He reached the bathroom quickly, kneeling on the floor beside a shaking Richie, heaving over the toilet. Eddie rubbed Richie’s back slowly, up and down in a steady motion, and held him through it, pushing his hair back with his fingers, when it started sticking to his sweaty forehead. He sat there and waited for Richie to get it all out, and then for him to stop shaking. He flushed the toiled and helped Richie to his feet, directing him to the sink.

Richie turned the tap and splashed cold water in his face a few times, before he just shoved his face in his hands, letting the water run. Eddie was about to roll up Richie’s sleeves, since he was getting them soaked, when Richie squirmed away from him, like a forest animal, turning off the tap and sitting on the floor. He stared at the ceiling.

“Rich-”

Richie folded his knees against his chest and rested his forehead on them. He spoke finally, without looking at Eddie. “Can you leave me alone?” His voice was still hoarse from throwing up.

Eddie bit the inside of his cheek and blinked a couple of times, before tightening his lips and walking out.

“And close the door.” Richie added.

“Get up and close it yourself.” Eddie replied dryly, thumping back to his room.

Richie had skipped dinner that night, staying locked in his room, so Eddie ended up ordering take-out from a Chinese place Richie had the number for on his fridge, but once the food arrived and he saw the fortune cookies, he lost his appetite.

He had been so happy when he had first arrived. So had Richie, or at least Eddie thought Richie looked happy at the time. Now he wasn’t so sure. In the last few days, Eddie had taken to overthinking more often than usual. Overthinking about his emotions, wasn’t something he was used to doing. There had never been many emotions to overthink, in his adult life, anyway. When he overthought things, it was usually something practical, like about which car to buy, which hotel to book, which restaurant to eat at. Tangible things. Emotions were not fucking tangible. Eddie hated his newfound weakness. He hated that he was in love with Richie and he hated that Richie didn’t seem to care at all. Not about himself or his friends.

Richie’s fingers were a mess. He had noticed them when they had been in the bathroom, and Richie was gripping the toiled, his knuckles white. Nail-biting was a nasty fucking habit, but upon a closer look Eddie noticed it wasn’t the nails, but the cuticles; that they weren’t bitten, but picked, pulled and scabby, from bleeding and closing repeatedly. Eddie knew anxiety very well.

Eddie picked up his phone, took a deep breath and called Myra. He looked at his watch and sighed.

“Oh, he’s alive.” Was the first thing she said upon answering.

“I’m sorry-”

“One text? One text, three days ago, that’s the extent of the explanation you gave me for leaving in the middle of the night?”

“I know, I know, my friend needed me, he was at the hospital, I-”

“I don’t _care_. I don’t care if he was in the hospital, I am your wife. I come first.”

Eddie put a hand on his forehead, staying silent.

“Did he even want you there? You don’t _have_ friends, Eddie. Those five people, the ones who almost got you killed, remember? They’re not your friends.”

“I-”

“Who took care of you when they left you in that hospital, Eddie?”

“You’re the one who made them l-”

“ _Who_ took care of you Eddie? I stayed with you, you’re disfigured, and I stayed.”

“You. You took care of me.”

“What did you think going there was gonna do, huh? You think you’re what, gonna save his life? Make it all _better_?”

Eddie choked back tears. “No…” His voice cracked.

“You can’t even take care of yourself. Listen to yourself, already crying. What are you, a little _fag_? Is Richie rubbing off on you? You shouldn’t be around people like him. He’s not good for you. What would Sonia say?”

*

Eddie was still screaming when he woke up from his nightmare; then he felt the mattress dip slightly next to him. He hadn’t begun to process the things he’d just seen when he felt two big arms wrap around him and pull him closer. He was shaking, eyes burning with tears he wasn’t sure were sad, scared or angry, there in the darkness of the room. The embrace around him was strong and warm, safe. He closed his eyes and melted into it, his face flushed pink, nuzzled into an inviting broad chest. A hand smoothed his hair gently, almost rocking him to sleep. “It’s okay- shhh, it’s okay.” Richie’s voice was sweet, no bite to it anymore. Like hot chocolate on a snowy day.

Eddie wrapped his arms tight around him, already dreading the inevitable moment where Richie would get up and leave again, back to his room, away from him, where Eddie believed he would rather be. It was only then, that the skin on skin contact hit him. And it hit him hard. He felt his entire body heat up, like he was a goddamn furnace. In that moment, he was grateful for the dark, because he was pretty sure he was the colour of a chili pepper, judging by how his skin felt, and he did not want Richie to perceive it.

Richie ran his fingers through Eddie’s hair again and he felt his insides turn. Myra’s voice jumped from the back of his brain. _‘Fag.’_ Eddie grabbed Richie tighter and shut his eyes, causing two tears to fall on Richie’s chest.

“Hey, Eds, it’s alright. It was just a bad dream, you’re alright.” His hands were now lower on Eddie’s body, just holding him in place, keeping him close.

Eddie shook his head against Richie’s chest and the latter rubbed his hands on his back. He took two quick breaths.

“S’alright, Eddie.” He pulled back a little to look at Eddie. Eddie could still tell the blue in his eyes, even in the dark.

“Thank you. For coming to check on me.”

Richie smiled softly and petted Eddie’s cheek, just over his scar. “Of course.”

They laid in silence. Richie no longer had his arms around Eddie, and Eddie was inexplicably less comfortable without them. Still, Richie had his arm stretched just across Eddie’s pillow and would occasionally play with Eddie’s hair. Apparently, it was having a ‘fluffy day’.

“Richie.” Eddie whispered, still awake.

“Yeah?”

“You can leave if you want…” Eddie could tell Richie’s eyes widened at that.

“Do-do you…want me to?”

“No!” Too loud. “No…” An exhale.

Richie swallowed dry. “Do you remember when you fell and hit your head in, like, 11th grade?”

Eddie listened.

“You had a small bump and you freaked out because your mom was definitely gonna make you get an x-ray and God knows what else? So, we went to my house and my mom called yours and made something up, so you didn’t have to go home. And we just laid there. Icing your head.” Eddie could hear the smile in Richie’s voice.

He swallowed and nodded slowly. “I remember.” And remember he did. Richie had kissed his forehead that night. At the time, Eddie would never have admitted it, but it had calmed him down, he hadn’t felt much pain after that.

“This is kind of reminding me of that. Except, the bump isn’t visible this time because it’s on the inside of your brain, in your memories.”

“I think that’s just called trauma, Rich.”

Richie snorted. “I mean, if you _must_ get technical with it.”

“You kissed me that day.” Eddie blurted out. “My- uhh- my forehead, I mean. It was my forehead.”

Richie nodded. “Hm.”

“Hm?”

“Hmmm.”

Eddie chuckled.

“What, you want a forehead kiss, Eds?” Richie teased.

Eddie stared at Richie for a few seconds. Then, he grabbed Richie’s hand, the wrist still wrapped with bandages to protect the stitches. Eddie could feel Richie’s eyes on him, but he didn’t let that stop him. He leaned forward, licked his lips, and pressed them softly against the bare skin bellow the bandages. Richie pushed his body closer to Eddie, who was back to kissing right above the bandages, then the side of Richie’s wrist, and then the palm of his hand. Slowly, lips slightly parted and warm.

Eddie pulled back, expecting for Richie to look upset, but he didn’t. He held Eddie’s jaw and, it was only for a split second, but Eddie saw Richie’s eyes gleam just before their lips met. Eddie whined against his own will, wrapping his arms around Richie’s neck, and deepening the kiss. He licked Richie’s lips and Richie took the hint, pulling Eddie tighter against him, until Eddie just about had enough and grabbed the back of Richie’s head, pulling him on top of him. They quickly became a mess of intertwined limbs, moans of pleasure and whines; two people who had wanted each other for 27 years. Yet, Richie pulled back before things could get more serious.

“Wait, stop, stop.” He gently touched Eddie’s face and perched himself up on one elbow.

Eddie’s lips felt swollen. “I’m sorry-”

Richie laughed faintly and ran his fingers through Eddie’s hair. “Why would you be sorry?”

“I- I don’t know…”

Richie suddenly looked sad, heartbroken even, as if he had just realized something. Eddie reached up to touch his cheek, but Richie grabbed his wrist, before he could.

“I love you.” Eddie confessed.

Richie let out a sob and rolled onto his back, laying next to Eddie. “God, Eddie, you don’t even know anything about me anymore.”

“Not from lack of trying.” Eddie threw back.

“Sparing no punches, huh?”

“Well, you’re the one who kissed me, man.”

Richie prepared to get up and Eddie grabbed his arm. Richie tensed up and his eyes locked on the patch of skin where Eddie’s hand made contact with his arm. Then, almost immediately after, he relaxed again.

“How do you tell someone you would die for them one minute, and treat them like they’re a stranger the next? Please, tell me, because I don’t know what the fuck has been going on with you, Richie.”

Richie settled back down on the bed and took a deep breath. Eddie accepted that he wouldn’t receive an answer, so he closed his eyes, and he slept.

*

**Richie lay awake for about an hour more, watching Eddie sleep. His heart hurt. He had been overcome by love and failed to control himself. _‘Fuck.’_ He cursed himself. _‘Why did you kiss him, Richie, you just complicated everything.’_ He pulled the skin on his fingers and ran a hand through _his hair. He felt tired, he wanted to sleep. ‘He can’t see your arms. Remember, he can’t see your arms.’_ And with that, he fell asleep. **

*

Eddie locked himself in the bathroom, heart beating out of his chest. He craved his inhaler for the second time since he had arrived in LA. He tried to do his breathing exercises, but he couldn’t bring himself to stop shaking. He had been so _stupid._ How could he not have seen it, when it was so goddamn obvious.

Heroin.

Richie was using.

He called Bill’s number but hung up before it started ringing. Eddie sat on the toilet seat and held his phone in his hands until they started hurting.

He must’ve sat there for 15 minutes, when-

“Eddie?” Richie’s voice called, weary, faking calmness.

Eddie stayed quiet. The sensitiveness to temperature, the paleness, the weight loss, the lack of appetite, the disappearing for full days… It all came crashing down around him. _‘Eddie, you don’t even know anything about me anymore.’_ His brain repeated back at him, in Richie’s voice. And then, in Myra’s voice, _‘What did you think going there was gonna do, huh?’_

There was a knock on the bathroom door. “Hiya, Eds. Umm, watcha doin’ there?” The same weariness.

Eddie unlocked the door and opened it slowly revealing Richie, with the fakest smile Eddie had ever seen in his life.

“You ran out of bed, or something?” He tried to joke, a desperate ‘ahah’ leaving his lips.

Eddie was staring at the floor, because he couldn’t look at Richie if he wanted to say what he was about to say.

“Ed-”

“Show me your arms.”

“Wh-” Richie took a step back.

“Shut up.” Eddie shook his head, still not looking at him. “Arms, Richie.”

He shook his head and opened his mouth to speak, but nothing would come out.

Eddie lost it, grabbing Richie’s arm with brute force and rolling up the sleeve. Up close and under the strong bathroom lights, the appearance of the track marks on Richie’s skin was worse. Eddie’s brain was so focused on the bruising, scabbing and darkened veins, that he almost overlooked the obvious self-harm scars spread down and along Richie’s entire forearm, some white and fully healed, others still a bit red, thick and raised on his skin. Some of the injection points were obviously infected. Eddie wanted to scream, or run, or pull his own fucking hair out for having been so blind to this. The skin was cracked around the small holes and one of the veins was darkened and raised all the way down his forearm, so Eddie knew that had been the most recent puncture.

Richie pulled his arm away from Eddie. Eddie could probably have gripped tighter and avoided it, but Richie’s movement was too sudden. Richie scoffed and walked out. Eddie followed without a second thought, as Richie walked into his bedroom.

“Richie, hey…”

Richie stopped and looked straight at him. Eddie averted his eyes. Richie laughed despite himself. “Oh, you can’t look at the poor drug addict, is it?” He dropped his arms.

Eddie tightened his lips and slowly turned his head to face Richie, who tensed up in response. Eddie’s chest began to hurt, but he ignored it, ignoring the instinct to fist his shirt along with it.

“Can you not look at me like that?!” Richie almost yelled.

“Like what?”

“Like you fucking pity me, Eddie.” He looked like he had given up. Eddie was afraid he really had.

“I don’t pity you, Richie… I-”

“If you try to give me some bullshit talk right now about how I need help and you can be there for me, save it. I don’t need it. I’ve gotten enough of that shit from Steve, already.”

Eddie’s eyes widened and his brow furrowed. His blood was boiling. _‘Fuckin Steve, knows?’_ He thought.

“Save whatever feelings you have about this to yourself, Eddie.” Richie said, his voice thick with what sounded like annoyance, even anger.

“I love you, I am not going to fucking save anything, Richie.”

Richie scoffed again.

“Can you- what the fuck, Richie? What’s funny about this?”

“The way you _think_ you love me is hilarious.”

Eddie was burning hot.

“You need to know someone to love them Eddie, and the fact you even think there’s anything here to love is proof enough that you know _nothing_.”

Eddie blinks away the sadness from his face, reaches for his phone in his pocket and taps around shakily, trying to call Bill. Richie steps closer to him.

“What are you doing?” Richie asks, voice tight.

“I’m gonna call Bill-”

Richie slapped the phone from Eddie’s hand, with enough force that it shattered as it hit the wall next to them. Eddie physically flinched. Silence swallowed the room. Eddie wanted to bang his head against the wall when he noticed Richie scratching his forearm over the sleeve.

“Eddie.” Richie finally spoke.

“Yeah…” Eddie rubbed his face with both hands.

“Go home.”

“Come on, Rich.”

Richie took a deep breath and sat down on his bed. “Just-” He bit his tongue. “Go, please. Before I start talking.”

“I want you to talk, Rich. I want you to talk so I can help.”

Richie laughed again. Eddie wanted to punch him square in the face.

“You won’t like what I have to say.” Richie grimaced and then looked right through Eddie. “Trust me.”

“I wanna know.”

“You wanna know?”

“I wanna know!” Eddie shouted.

Richie looked at his hands again. Eddie wanted to kiss his wrists, like he had just a few hours before.

“Stan died. And then you died.”

“I came back, Rich.”

“Yeah, but you _died_ , Eddie.” He stretched out his arms. “Here. You died here.”

Eddie dragged himself across the floor and kneeled in front of Richie, taking his cold hands in his, wishing he could physically make Richie absorb his love for him through his pores. Wishing he could make Richie feel it, and not just hear it from his lips. Maybe if Richie felt it, he wouldn’t be able to deny it so quickly.

“I didn’t die. I’m right here, I’m telling you I love you, why are you pushing away? Hm?”

Richie leaned down so their foreheads would touch. Eddie scooted closer.

“We’re gonna fix it, okay? We’re gonna get you help.”

Richie pulled his hands away from Eddie’s slowly. “You can’t, Eds.”

Eddie frowned and waited for Richie to add what he meant.

“I don’t want you to. I don’t want help. You shouldn’t have come, and I am sorry that you did. I should have drawn that line as soon as you showed up here.” He stared at the wall behind Eddie as he spoke.

“Come on, Rich-” He touched his cheek, like he had done so many times before.

Richie stood up and walked right past him. “Pack your things, okay? I’ll pay for your plane ticket, just get the fuck out, man.”

“Can you-”

“No!” He shouted. “Whatever it is. No, I can’t. Goddammit, Eddie. Go home. Leave me alone.”

“But-”

“Don’t you have a fucking wife to go home to?” Richie said, cold. No warmness to his voice left. “Go!”

Eddie left that afternoon. They didn’t speak again.

*

**The brown liquid bubbled on the foil, over Richie’s lighter. He suctioned it into the syringe and tightened the elastic over his elbow, slapping his skin once, twice, until a tired vein popped up. He inhaled sharply as the needle slowly disappeared into his arm. He pushed in the plunger and everything went dark.**

*

“I think we should get a divorce.”

“You think?” Myra replied.

“I- No, I _want_ a divorce. You can take whatever you want.”

“You can bet I will.”

*

“Hello. Is this Bill Denbrough?”

“This is him, yes. Who is this?”

“Mr. Denbrough, I’m a doctor with the UCLA Medical Center in Santa Monica. We have you down as Mr. Richard Tozier’s emergency contact. Is that correct?”

“Did something happen?”

“We’re very sorry to inform that Mr. Tozier has had what we believe to be a heroin and cocaine overdose. He is alive, and we were able to revert the situation.”

*

“Are you sure you’ll be alright?”

“It’s not like you can come with me, if I say no, Big Bill.”

“You know what I mean…” He placed a hand on his shoulder.

“It’s just rehab. How bad can it be? We’ve killed an alien murder clown.”

“You’ll call, yes?” Mike smiled.

“I will use _all_ my minutes on you two, lovebirds.”

*

Day 1/120

Welp, here we are. I’m already fidgeting without my phone. Withdrawal is gonna be magical.

*

“Alright, Richard-”

“Jesus, please call me Richie. People call me Richard when they’re mad at me.”

“Richie, then.” The young female doctor smiled, as she sat across from him. “I can only promise you one thing for the next few months. It’s going to suck.”

Richie nodded, a sheepish smile crossing his lips. “It’s already sucking, doc.”

“What were they giving you at the hospital to ease withdrawal symptoms?”

“Buprenorphine.”

She noted it down. “Do you want to take-”

“No.” He squeezed his hands together.

“That’s going to make it significantly more painful to you. Are you sure? We can find out what the best plan is-”

“If I don’t fully stop, with everything, I will just end up going back to it. I know myself.” He scratched his forearms over his sleeves.

She nodded, a knowing look on her face. “Disclaimer time then. In about a day you will experience severe muscle pain, all over your body. On day two, severe anxiety, panic attacks, insomnia, shaking and diarrhoea.”

“Oof.” He joked. “Get to the fun stuff.”

“Abdominal cramping, sweating, shivers, nausea, a lot of vomiting.”

“It’s going to a very sexy week for me.”

She bit her tongue trying not to laugh. “We have nurses 24/7, we’ll keep you comfortable and we’ll pump you full of fluids.”

“What does the rest of my life look like?”

She crossed her legs and rested her hands on the desk. “Well, you’ll get tired more easily, have trouble sleeping… Irritability is common, as well as depression, anxiety…”

“So, all things I already struggled with.”

“That doesn’t make it easier.” She looked at him sympathetically.

He looked down at his hands.

“You’ll be meeting with me in private twice a week, and you’ll see me for group therapy on week-days.”

“Are you my new best friend?” He joked, but the words sounded bitter in his tongue. _Eddie_ was his best friend. And he was certain he fucked that up.

“If you need me to be.”

*

He couldn’t stop his body from shaking. They had brought him what felt like 30lbs worth of blankets, but Richie’s body temperature was all over. He would freeze, roll himself in the blankets, get stupid hot, kick them all to the foot of the bed. He felt insane, and he didn’t know if it was the withdrawal itself, the lack of sleep and added paranoia, or all of it at once. He was throwing his body around the bed when he felt his stomach turn. He leaned over the side of the bed where a (new and clean) bucket had been placed and vomited the fuck-all he had in his stomach.

He saw the door open from his peripheral vision and two reassuring hands were quickly on his shoulders, guiding him back down onto the bed. He remembered the time Eddie had rubbed his back while he threw up on the toilet; then he remembered what a fucking asshole he had been to him after and hated himself a little more than he already did. He really fucked it up.

He laid on his back, shaking, his head feeling like it was getting hit with a hammer every one second. He winced. “Eddie?” He called out, as a cold wet towel was placed on his forehead and another, softer one, was rubbed on his face, gently.

“Not Eddie.” A sweet female voice sounded.

“Doc?”

“Nurse.” She informed, still cleaning the sweat from his face in gentle motions.

Richie opened his eyes. “You’re young.” He blurted out, feverish and delusional.

“That I am.” The small laugh of someone who was used to delusional patients being under their care.

“What’s your name?”

“Dominika. Dominika Miłota. Just Domi for friends.” She didn’t care for giving information. Most patients in this state never remembered anything anyway, which was for the best, if Domi had to be honest about it.

Richie blinked, the wet towel cold and nice against his skin. He blinked again. Then he spoke, voice hoarse and tired. “Are you polish?”

“Yes.” She candidly replied.

Richie whined and squirmed up, reaching for the bucket again. He heaved and heaved, tears rolling down his cheeks, but nothing would come out.

“Your stomach is empty. Maybe crackers and tea would be good.” The young nurse rubbed his shoulders, in comfort.

*

Day 27/120

I miss him so much, I can’t focus. Group therapy is just me avoiding any questions where the answer might involve me talking about Eddie. He told me he loved me and what did I do?

At this point, I wish I hadn’t fucking left that motel room alive.

*

Day 34/120

Spoke to Mike, today. He mentioned Eddie and I could tell he was holding stuff back for my sake, so now my friends are walking on eggshells, because I’m a fucking child who can’t hear the name of the boy he likes without having a panic attack. I miss passing out.

*

Day 62/120

I’m allowed visits!!!!! Ben and Bev promised they’d come over. I will not be calming down! :)

*

Bev almost jumped onto Richie’s waist as soon as he was in her reach. He already looked fuller and healthier than the last time she had seen him when they had gone over to his house and helped pack his bags for rehab. Six months in Oklahoma required preparation, so Mike, Bill, Ben and Bev had all joined. They wouldn’t admit it, not even with a gun to their head, but Richie knew they just wanted to make sure he _would_ be going to the clinic and not getting out until he was clean.

Richie had gained his weight back (maybe a little more, even). His hair was looking healthier too, and they apparently had given him a haircut, which Richie later explained was because it got “really gross” during the first two weeks, falling out in clumps, but he was digging the short look.

“Mom and dad came to visit me at boarding school!” He exclaimed.

“I missed you…” Bev sniffled, with her arms wrapped around his neck. She pulled back and pinched his cheeks. “Look at you. You look so good, Richie.”

“Shh, not in front of Ben, darling.” He teased.

Ben rolled his eyes and smiled, giving Richie a tight hug. “Ah, I see the jokes are back.”

Richie guided them to the garden in the back, where there were a few wood benches, cute round tables and matching chairs.

“Do all rehab places look like this?” Ben comments.

“No, I’m just rich.” Richie winks obnoxiously.

They sit down and it’s a little awkward at first.

“Honestly, you guys don’t need to be like…scared to talk around me. Please, don’t baby me.” He confesses dropping his shoulders.

Bev places a comforting hand on top of his. “We know. We’re scared to sound condescending, I guess. We’re proud of you. Immensely, Richie. _All_ of us.”

“Are you saying _‘all’_ like that, because of Eddie, Beverly?”

She gives him a little sad smile.

“He divorced Myra.” Ben interjected.

“Ben.” She called out, twisting her nose.

“I figured he would.” Is all Richie said.

It was quiet again. They waited for Richie to explain what he meant.

“You know, he, uh- uh he said he loved me, and I was the biggest dick instead of just saying it back like I fucking wanted to.”

Ben’s jaw dropped and Bev physically closed his mouth. Richie laughed, teary eyed.

“Why didn’t you say it?”

“Have you ever done heroin, Bev?” He joked. Slightly.

Bev snorted, then she got very serious. “You’ll make it okay, hm? When you talk to him…”

“I don’t think he’s ever gonna talk to me again, Bev, you didn’t see his face…”

“Richie.” Ben called. “If there is one thing Eddie knows it’s that you love him. Give it time, get better. Get back to work and then, when the time is right, reach out to him. You two kept a bond for 23 years without talking to each other, I’m sure you can get past this. Be kind to yourself.”

“Bev, I’m keeping him. Sorry.” He teased. “Thank you, Benny.” His eyes gleamed.

*

Richie sat down at the tiny desk in his room. He ripped a sheet of paper from his notebook he kept as a journal, and he picked up the pen, clicking it.

_Dear, Eddie,_

He erased it, painting it into a black rectangle, and tried again.

_Eds, I would call, but I am terrified to hear your voice, I think it will break the little of me I have left_

He took a deep breath, but his exhale came out as a sob. He crinkled the sheet of paper into a little ball and threw it over his shoulder. “Stupid.” He whispered and let his head fall on the desk, with a thud.

*

Day 88/120

One more month. I feel better than I thought I would. I made friends with all the staff and some of the other inpatients. It hurts a little to see how many of these people arrive and end up dropping out of treatment, less than a month later sometimes. It hurts more to see how young some of them are. I met a 20-year-old girl a couple of weeks ago and she was raped for most of her childhood and ended up finding refuge in drugs. I really hope she makes it… I couldn’t stop thinking of Bev.

*

Day 117/120

Time does heal. If you let it.

*

“Soooo…” Bill said.

“No, I am not going on any date you set up for me.” Eddie replied as he stirred his coffee.

“No, actually I was gonna ask if you wanna come to my house, in a couple days. Mike and I are having a party. Or, like, a gathering. Yeah, a gathering. Sort of.”

“What are you on about?”

“Richie is getting out of rehab and Mikey is picking him up. He’s gonna stay with us for a bit, as he settles back into the real world, so we thought we could get the Losers together.” Bill sounded honestly excited.

“He’d probably rather a motel room.” Eddie muttered under his breath.

“Jesus, Eddie… Never mind, I think your company isn’t needed, actually.”

“Thanks, so much.”

“Well, Eddie, what the _fuck_ do you want me to say? Are you gonna throw this shit in his face forever? He was fucking sick, Actual sick, not fake sick, but you’re only familiar with the latter, I guess.”

Eddie’s heart sunk. He felt guilty and he felt hurt and, fuck, he was so angry still and he didn’t want to be anymore. “I’m sorry…” He whispered.

“It’s fine, just- Don’t come. Okay? It’s fine. Look, I have to go.”

“Okay…” He felt small.

The phone call ended, and Eddie let himself cry it out.

*

Eddie didn’t show up to Richie’s welcome home dinner. Richie pretended not to notice. He didn’t feel ready to see him, anyway. Mike made up some excuse about Eddie not being able to get off work to go all the way to LA, but Bill’s face gave it away; he had looked angry, when Eddie’s absence was mentioned. Richie wanted to know, but at the same time he didn’t. He wouldn’t forgive himself if he were the reason for their friends’ falling out.

Richie settled into his own little routine soon and easy after that. He recruited Mike as his personal trainer and decided he was going to the gym. “Fuck it, why not?” He had told them. He also took to making dinner for the three of them every single night, not only as a thank you for letting him stay, but also because they were his friends and he fucking loved them, and he liked to cook, it was a good distraction. Mike would compliment his dishes like he was reviewing a candidate for a Michelin star, Bill, on the other hand, was just purely suspicious of how well Richie could cook.

A few months passed and Richie felt he was ready to call Steve, who miraculously hadn’t dropped him, and discuss a comeback. “I’m gonna write it, Steve. I owe myself that much. If it helps just one person, I will be happy.” Steve had immediately agreed and called Richie’s publicist, to discuss the best way to announce a comeback. It got ruined by Richie tweeting that his new set was just gonna be jokes about his gay roommates, who couldn’t stop eye-fucking each other at the dinner table, and his newfound love of black coffee as a substitute for heroin.

He was happiest in the mornings. Nights were still really fucking hard. He’d think of Eddie and wonder if he was alright. Mike would sometimes share titbits about his life, but Bill…Bill never mentioned him. Richie often remembered the night where he had woken up to Eddie’s distressed mumbling and screaming and how all he had thought of to do was crawl into bed with him and just hold him close to him. That was all he wanted to do anyway. He cursed himself for not thinking to put on a long-sleeved shirt that night before he had gone to Eddie’s room, but he never gave a lot of thought to how he reacted when Eddie was afraid and needed him.

If he had covered up, Eddie wouldn’t have seen his arms, they wouldn’t have argued, Richie wouldn’t have hurt him. Then he thought of how if it hadn’t gone down like that, it would’ve gone down some other way, some other _day,_ eventually. Maybe he wouldn’t have survived a dosage. Maybe he wouldn’t be clean right now and putting his life back together, piece by piece, calling everyone he had fucked over, when he was at the bottom. Maybe, maybe, maybe. That seemed to be his favourite word as of late.

Then, one morning, the house-phone rang.

“Go for Richie.” He bit a chunk of toast.

Silence. Then a deep breath. And then-

“Is Mike home?”

The toast hit the floor.

“Ah, fuck!” He cried out at the mess of crumbs on the floor.

“Richie!” Eddie yelped. Then he pulled himself back together, attempting to sound normal. “Are you okay?” He tried not to sound worried. He failed.

Richie shook his t-shirt, getting rid of the crumbs on his chest. He swallowed the bit he had been chewing.

“I- dropped something.” He closed his eyes.

“Mike?”

“No, it was toast.”

Eddie couldn’t hold back the laugh that escaped his lips. Richie’s heart soared. “Not what you dropped, moron. Is Mike home?”

“Oh! No, I’m sorry. It’s just me.”

Silence.

“Can you tell him I called?”

“Y-yeah. Yes.”

“Thank you. Bye, Rich.”

‘He sounds sad…’ Richie thought. “Bye, Eds.” He whispered.

*

“Boo! You whore!” Richie shouted from across the table at Bill, who had just dropped a “Draw Four” Uno card on him.

“Is half of your vocabulary 90s movies?” Mike asked amused.

“Hey! Mean Girls was released in _2004_ and it is a _classic_ , Michael.”

“Bold of you to think the early 2000s aren’t just an extension of the 90s.” Bill said.

“I’m taking away your twitter privileges, if you don’t stop putting ‘bold of you to’ in front of every sentence, honey.” Mike laughed.

Richie sighed and scratched his forehead with his thumb.

“What’s up buddy?” Mike slapped his shoulder.

“Nothing, just thinking.” His breath almost caught in his throat.

“You think?” Bill teased. Mike kicked him under the table which prompted Richie to make fun of him for being ‘scolded’.

“What are you thinking about?” Mike asked still side-eyeing Bill.

“How did you guys just- fall so simply into a relationship with each other?”

Bill looked at Mike and smiled softly.

“Emotional intelligence and communication.” Bill replied, poking Richie’s sides.

“On my part, he means. He’s a mess, this would never have happened if we were depended on him.” Mike kicks him again.

“Ow?” Bill placed a hand over his heart and Richie smiled softly at their happiness and how easy it came for them.

He guessed he wasn’t that lucky.

Bill began lifting the table and Richie walked to the spare bedroom. Mike followed behind, unnoticed.

“Rich-”

“Hm?” He hummed pulling back the cover and sheets.

“You know, maybe you should talk to him.”

Richie looked at the ceiling, like he had done so many times at home. “And say what? Hey, I love you too and I’m terrified that you’re over it now, but I still need you to know?”

Mike laughed and Richie pouted. “Yeah, Richie, that’s exactly what you should say. What’s the worse that can happen, at this point? You’re already not talking, do you wanna wonder forever about what could have happened if you had just- been honest?”

*

_‘Alright, Richie. You better be fucking sure about this.’_ He thought, staring at the Departures timetable at LAX.

*

The sudden knock on the door startled Eddie. He wasn’t expecting anyone and who the fuck comes over unannounced at 9:37pm? He rolled his eyes and stomped to the front door, swinging it open, ready to yell at someone.

He was met with a scared looking Richie, sporting the most nervous smile Eddie had ever seen. Eddie immediately didn’t know where to put his thoughts.

_‘He looks so much better.’_

_‘Oh, I’m properly fucked now.’_

_‘I am still so mad at him.’_

_‘Kiss him.’_

He shushed away every single one, because he had to say something before it got too weird. He rummaged through his brain, but Richie beat him to it.

“Hi.” Was all he managed to said. And then silence once more.

Eddie felt the anger he had been putting away for eight and a half months bubble up to the surface. “That’s it?”

Richie swallowed and his eyes went from scared to sad. “I-” He was interrupted by footsteps and a male voice. “Edward? Who was it?” Then, the figure of a tall, attractive man in his 30s came into view and Richie’s heart fell to his goddamn feet.

Eddie looked over his shoulder and then back at Richie. Richie looked straight through Eddie, like he couldn’t see him.

“I’m really sorry, wrong door.” He smiled and bowed slightly, almost making Eddie laugh. “Enjoy the rest of your evening.” He gave the man a nod and bolted down the hallway, before Eddie could even process what was going through his mind. Once he realized, his eyes widened so hard, he almost gave himself a headache.

“For _fucks sake_! Richie!” He grabbed his house keys. Then he remembered his colleague was still standing there confused. “I’m sorry, my friend is a fucking moron. Can you finish the video conference for me? Make something up? I’ll fucking pay for your honeymoon, dude.”

The man smiled knowingly and hushed him away with his hands. Eddie took the stairs and not the elevator.

He called Richie’s number, but it went straight to voicemail. Richie must have never taken it off airplane mode. “Moron! He’s a moron!”

Eddie walked out of the building and began walking up the street. “Of course, I forgot a jacket, if I get pneumonia, I swear to God-” Then he saw him, signalling down a cab. Eddie jogged up and reached the cab just as Richie was opening the door. He slammed the door shut again and shoved his head in the window, pushing Richie aside by his waist. “He doesn’t need it. He’s just _stupid_.” He shouted at the driver, trying to be heard over the traffic.

He pushed Richie back onto the sidewalk. “Do you know how many fucking diseases are in New York cabs? And you were just gonna sit in one?”

Richie looked hypnotised and Eddie shook him by the shoulders. “Rich-”

“Did you run after me to stop me from getting into a New York City cab? Because, if you did, and Eddie I’m saying this as someone who loves you, then your hypochondria is out of control and you should probably see a therapist…”

“I hate you.”

“Well…”

“Why did you come to my apartment, Richie? At this hour, no less.” He dropped his hands which had been holding on to Richie’s shoulders that entire time.

Richie dropped his arms, his invisible armour, his walls… Everything came down. “I’m sorry, I didn’t know you were on a date. Which is so stupid! I should have called, I just knew if I tried talking to you on the phone, I’d end up getting nervous and mess up, and then we’d be stuck in an awkward silence, and you’d get exasperated and just hang up on me, and I didn’t want that because I really have things I need to say to you, but I need you to be patient and let me fucking-”

“Slow down! You’re running your mouth again. Breathe.”

Richie did. He took a couple deep breaths and closed his eyes.

“I wasn’t on a date, I was on a video conference with our Australian partners, and you forced me to walk out on it and leave a colleague to cover for me.”

Richie opened his eyes.

“That’s what you do-” Eddie continued. “You bring chaos into my life.”

Richie felt dizzy, he felt tired, he felt stupid, he wanted to go home.

“You said you have things to say to me. I’m waiting.” Eddie offered.

“What, here? On the sidewalk?”

“I’m sorry, princess, is that not good enough for you?”

Richie laughed, then he choked on his own sob. He forced himself to stop. “Here goes, then…”

“Okay.” Eddie straightened up his back.

“Fuck-” He rubbed his face in both hands. “I had a speech. Sort of.”

Eddie watched him patiently, but his expression was blank.

“Wait, I wrote you a letter, it’s-” He took a folded sheet of paper from his backpack and handed it over to Eddie.

Eddie took it and placed it in his back pocket. He looked straight into Richie’s eyes and Richie felt his knees give in. “Tell me.”

“You were right.” He figured that was a good start because it was the truth. “I needed help. I don’t know what I was doing nine months ago, Eddie, I can’t remember half the shit I told you, but from what other people have told me I said to _them_ , it was probably awful. I don’t blame you for hating me, I don’t blame you for still being angry and not wanting to talk to me. You could punch me right now and I’d be like ‘Yeah, that’s fair.’. But- Wait, I put it really nicely when I spoke to Mike.” He bit his bottom lip. “I love you too, and I’m terrified that you’re over it now, but I still need you to know. I wanted to say it then, Eddie, but if I had you’d wanna stay and I’d keep hurting you. I’m happy you found out; I think I needed you to. I needed to fear losing you enough. I’m clean now, you know. And I’m not saying that because I have any hopes for us, trust me I don’t. I’ve accepted that I fucked up. I just wanted you to know that I love you, and that I stayed the whole treatment because I wanted to not disappoint you for once. That’s- that’s all, I think. I love you too. That’s it, really. It’s only nine months late.”

Eddie was still watching him with that same blank look on his face. Richie wished he could read his mind, he wished Eddie would tell him what to do next.

“I really did love you, Richie.” Eddie said, his lips a thin line, his face not letting anything transpire.

“I know-” Tears came down his face, out of his control. He had been holding them for far too long. “I know well enough.”

Eddie took a step closer in his direction and his face softened. “I am _so_ , so fucking angry with you, Richie.” Hot tears of anger burned in his eyes.

Richie rubbed his eyes with his sleeves.

“You owe me a fucking phone.” Eddie remembered.

Richie laughed weakly. “I think I owe you money for emotional distress.”

“That too.” Eddie nodded. Then he reached for Richie’s cheeks, holding them in his cold hands.

Richie was warm and Eddie felt a rush of relief go down his spine. He closed the distance between them, and Richie let out the cutest noise Eddie had ever heard. He found himself thinking of all the little noises Richie made that he didn’t know yet and felt an unspeakable need to find them all and document them, which prompted him to smile a little against his lips.

When they pulled apart, Eddie couldn’t get out a full sentence, before Richie wrapped his arms around his waist, pulled them closer and kissed Eddie deeper, the way he deserved to be kissed. Eddie leaned their foreheads together and grabbed the collar of Richie’s jacket.

“If you fucking hurt me-”

Richie immediately began shaking his hand slowly, taking Eddie’s hand in his, bringing it up to his lips and kissing his wrist and his palm, the way Eddie had done to him months before.

“I mean it, Richie.”

“How stupid do you think I am?”

“Is that a trick question? I think you’re immensely stupid. Also, I’m cold can we go back to my apartment, what the _fuck_.”

“I literally suggested we didn’t do this on the sidewalk.”

“Well, I didn’t know you were gonna go full romantic comedy speech on me.”

“Romant- You hurt me so, Eddie.”

They started walking down the street, Richie removing his jacket and wrapping it around Eddie’s shoulders (he had a sweater on, Eddie was only wearing a button-up, it was fair). They bickered all the way to Eddie’s apartment, up the elevator, to the bed…

“So, you decided to copy me and show up at my door? No originality. I can’t believe you’re writing your own material, is it all stolen jokes?”

“I will get back on a plane, I swear to God.” Richie joked.

Eddie pulled him in for a kiss and rested his head against his chest. _‘It’s okay. It’s okay, now.’_ He found himself thinking. His eyes landed on Richie’s arm, healed, no bruises or dark veins. The self-harm scars he still had would probably never fully fade but they were looking healthy and hydrated, and that was enough. He wrapped his arms around Richie’s torso and felt Richie’s arms tighten around him, warm and strong. Richie kissed the top of his head and they both said goodnight to the promise of a future.

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you enjoyed this little baby I had in the works! Thank you for reaching the end.
> 
> I have a playlist for this particular fic, you can find it [HERE](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/5Q3WFJ9odf8IvNOLKiYVve?si=OI1IE4r8Spes2_6g0IDWFQ)
> 
> You can find me on twitter [HERE](https://twitter.com/PJRANS0NE)


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